


cirrus artemisia

by aquathenmarine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Fairies, Fluff, Halloweentown kinda, Humor, Identity Issues, M/M, Vampires, mostly just fantasy it's kinda wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 09:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11529633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquathenmarine/pseuds/aquathenmarine
Summary: Yixing is a ridiculously promiscuous vampire who spends his time staring at his neighbour's really nice butt. Said neighbour is flower fairy Kris. Identity crises and terrible painting ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm importing all my past works onto ao3 for archiving purposes. This was originally posted around May 2014.

“Yixing, what on Earth are you doing.” _Questions that fall from Himchan’s lips never actually sound like questions_ , Yixing notes as he stops his gentle humming.

 

“I am one with the tree,” is his reply. His voice is serene, he thinks, like the wind that quietly brushes his face and caresses the locks of hair back into their proper place.

 

“No you are not. You are standing outside the house, behind the tree, and you _know_ I am in the dining room, waiting for you to bring back dinner, and yet here you are standing right in front of the window of said dining room, in plain view for me to see that you are in fact not going out to buy dinner. _Like you said you would_.”

 

Yixing hums again, but this time briefly, more in reply. “Yes, Himchan. But look at this peace we have found ourselves in. Look at how it changes us, changes our words. Feel the wind that quietly brushes your face and caresses the locks of hair back into their proper place. Is it not wonderful?”

 

“Your stupid metaphors are not making sense, as per usual, and that is bullshit, because like I just said, _I am right by the window, and I can see you peeking at the neighbour’s ass from behind your damn tree_. Now will you _please_ go and buy dinner? It’s fine if you don’t but then can you at least _tell_ me that you aren’t so I don’t have to spend ten minutes waiting for something that will never come, and can actually go out and buy it myself? Thanks.”

 

The flat tone of his human’s voice startles Yixing out of his peaceful state. He opens his eyes and sees the set jaw of his housemate, who is indeed standing on the inside of the open window, arms folded and leaning against the ledge, but two feet away from the tree that now hugs his back as he stares at the boy. His stomach drops. Himchan looks pale, forlorn and hungry.

 

Yixing is not taking very good care of his human, as things currently stand. But just as Yixing really starts to feel sorry for himself, Himchan rolls his eyes. “Stop doing that. Go get us something from that sandwich place down the road, and then you can go back to ogling fairy butt.”

 

 

 

 

“Lovely,” Yixing moans out, as he rides the boy working the sandwich counter. Of course, he isn’t working it now. But he was. It’s his job. He’s taken a lunch break. He is too busy working other things. (Not his lunch.)

 

(Although no, that’s arguable.)

 

Yixing pops a peck onto the boy’s forehead when they are finished and straightens his name tag with one hand as he tugs his own trousers back on with the other. It reads _Jongin_. Jongin is delightful. Yixing even blows him a kiss on his way out of the otherwise empty shop, plucking the bag with the lunch from the counter as he goes.

 

“I’m baaaack,” Yixing singsongs when he gets back home. He walks right in with his shoes on because the carpet he ordered still hasn’t been laid and if Himchan won’t take his off than neither will he.

 

He sets the bag down on the dining table, a remnant from the last tenant. He’s glad, actually, because even though the chips on the sides are problematic for him, that is one less thing he has to deal with when furnishing the house. It’s only half done, the smell of newly dried paint still hanging strongly in the air. But Yixing doesn’t need to breathe anyway so he just ignores it. Himchan, on the other hand, is not undead in the slightest and hopelessly human. But his permanent scowl loosens considerably when Yixing places a huge baguette stuffed with yummy-looking sandwich-y things in front of him.

 

“Yes!” Himchan yelps. Yixing smiles and grabs his own sandwich, taking a bite as he tries to subtly put the change for the food back into the errand jar.

 

_Clink_.

 

Yixing’s smile turns sheepish in an instant, because he knows he’s just been caught. And sure enough, upon entering the dining room again, Himchan is glaring at him suspiciously.

 

“You didn’t pay.”

 

Through a mouthful of sandwich: “That is strongly debatable.”

 

“ _Xing_.”

 

“What?” Yixing sets his baguette down. Himchan is already rolling his eyes. “It’s not like he asked me to! It’s not my fault he forgot.”

 

“Well do you really expect him to remember when he is _otherwise occupied_?”

 

“It was an honest mistake.”

 

Himchan glares at him silently through another bite of baguette. Yixing tries to rearrange his fringe as nonchalantly as possible.

 

“It could have happened to anybody, really.”

 

 

 

 

Yixing hides behind the tree again. He hides, because he does not, obviously, want to get caught staring at his hopelessly attractive neighbour, and in this town where houses are built like small mansions with front lawns the size of an American dream, it is the only place he can ogle his new neighbour’s butt without it being inherently obvious that he is ogling his new neighbour’s butt.

 

His neighbour, who is a flower fairy, because he has tremendous butterfly wings the colour of a really dull sea, speckled with white splotches that look like a blinding sun reflected on water attached to his back. His neighbour, who is currently hacking and weeding all of the flowers on his part of the lawn with reckless abandon, drenched in sweat from having mown it with record speed just beforehand underneath the sweltering early September sun. Yixing barely hears the whispered string of abuse that his neighbour is directing at a particularly stubborn sunflower stem, because he is too busy admiring the curve of his neighbour’s ass from behind the safe shade of the giant tree on his own lawn.

 

“But why would a flower fairy be destroying flowers?” Yixing ponders out loud, although he barely hears his own words because he is too busy raking his eyes over that body like a troll rakes leaves with its spit because _yum_.

 

Yixing hears a soft sigh from behind him.

 

“No!” Yixing shrieks, but very very quietly, for he is a quiet and gentle person. “Do not chastise me further, Channie! I will stare for as long as I please.” He sniffles lightly, because Yixing is rather sensitive and from living with Himchan for so long, knows that it is far more simpler to get offended at his biting remarks before they are actually said, because than the recovery time is over sooner.

 

“I wasn’t even going to say anything, it’s just that who gets this horny after eating? Also can I have your leftovers?”

 

“You can. And I’m always horny.”

 

“That’s true.”

 

 

 

 

The fairy has been calling himself Kris for about three weeks now. It changes. Before, he was a mellow Yifan, because Wufan got made fun of too quickly by his uncultured werewolf neighbour before he had moved out from next door. At the time he had felt that neither were manly enough anyway. In fact, each time Kris has an epiphany or a sudden insight to the true meaning of his extremely manly existence, he feels a name change necessary. He feels that is brings him one step closer to discovering his True Self.

 

Right this second, Kris is destroying the penultimate sunflower on his front lawn with heavy duty garden shears. He knows that, perhaps, the man in the shop that had sold it to him had probably expected that Kris use it to sort out a badly behaving hedge, or to decrease branch density on the odd tree, but Kris was not interested in any such thing.

 

He wants the flowers and plants all gone. It's true that any shock at hearing a flower fairy even considering to ponder that is quite justified, but Kris has a complex.

 

He is feeling the effects of it wear off as he _snip snip snips_ every emerald stem so it lies, dead, on the soft blades of grass surrounding. With each _snip_ , the fairy blood in his veins stops singing quite as loudly, and stops making him want to spontaneously run around, desperately seeking a lavender field or any such other atrocity to frolic in.

 

Because he hates it. He hates that his control is never quite within reach when there are stupid icky flowers around, and he doesn’t care how pretty they are and how nicely they frame the front of his house to passersby—he wants them gone. He wants the sudden bouts of wanderlust gone. He wants the high of happiness and rosy cheeks firmly kept in a drawer in the back of his mind labelled _unmanly_ , _unacceptable_ and _unKris_.

 

It just isn’t him. He doesn’t care that his mind notes that he really can’t change the fact that he is a fairy and really the only way to be happy about this situation is to embrace it—he just doesn’t have to like it. And instead of making him out to be someone he knows he totally, totally isn’t, he chooses to destroy it instead with the only equipment he knows how to wield with any amount of skill: scissors. True—giant, gilded scissors entirely unnecessary for the chopping off of delicate flower stems, but it makes Kris feel better so he does it anyway. Plus his boss would kill him if he found Kris stealing the really good barber scissors just to use on his geraniums _._

 

Kris has to stop for a moment to do the obligatory grumble about his boss whenever he thinks about him, because anyone would think that the owner of _Kris's Kuts_ would be Kris himself, he who aptly named the place and funded most of it out of his own pocket after a brief but well-paying stint as the mayor’s assistant some years ago. But _nooooooo_ it has to be bloody _cousin Junmyeon_ with his stupid _business and management degree_ and _gold encased cash register to confuse robbers into questioning whether they’re wanting the money inside or the actual damn cash register itself and there you go that hesitation got you knocked out and dragged on top of the ottoman until the police—_

 

“Why are you doing that?”

 

Kris freezes. He’s never heard this voice before. It’s a masculine one. It’s sort of gentle. It goes vaguely straight to his crotch.

 

He stands up straight and turns around, to see the intruder on his front lawn. He says intruder lightly, though, to be fair, because it’s really only the tip of his boot that’s on the grass but Kris has a _complex_ —

 

The boot must have noticed his glare because it edges ever so slightly back. Kris looks up at the owner.

 

He’s smiling, albeit in a slightly confused way. Or maybe he’s terrified, Kris can’t really tell.

 

But _fangs!_ The guy has fangs.

 

“Um,” Kris starts intelligently. “Don’t like flowers and stuff.” The sun is blinding him and he can’t really make the other person’s face out too well. But he can see the rest of him just fine, because it’s clad in dark clothes. He sees jeans and a t-shirt—which is surprising, because usually everyone in Halloweentown gets a kick out of dressing like something in a fairytale. The jeans stuff is usually left for the humans.

 

“You have fairy wings,” the voice says. It doesn’t sound shy, but there’s something quiet about it besides the actual volume. “You look kinda high. Don’t flower fairies live for this stuff?” He’s sort of just standing there, Kris notes. Looking, like, _really good_.

 

“Well I’m just not really all that cookie cutter, you know?” Kris lifts his garden shears up lamely, but he doesn’t really feel that silly about it afterwards because he manages to get a bicep flex in there—brief, but there—and he sees brown eyes glaze over a bit.

 

“But isn’t it like a high? Doesn’t it feel good?”

 

Kris doesn’t know if he wants to answer. He’s a little put off that he is being randomly asked that. From a complete stranger anyway. And he can tell this stranger probably looks really, really stunning and if they continue this conversation nothing nice is going to come out of Kris's mouth and he can already sense this is going to end in horrible embarrassment and he should probably just make a run for it, it’s not like his house isn’t _right there_ and this man honestly could do with a haircut and _imagine him in a hairdresser’s chair in his stupid loose t-shirt and stupid tight, tight jeans—_

 

Kris does not know what to say, but he does know that he just wants to shove this man into the back room of the barbershop into the chairs for the special customers and maybe give him a perm, or at least find a reason to run his hands through those locks that he is starting to get a better look at as his eyes adjust to the sun.

 

The man doesn’t seem to notice Kris's inner perming struggles because he continues after a beat without seeming to think anything is going really, really wrong. At least wrong with Kris.

 

“Because I would. Like if it felt good. I’m Yixing by the way. I’m your new neighbour.”

 

Yixing gives Kris a wide smile with an outstretched hand, and Kris is too busy looking at his fangs to notice for a couple moments that he should really be returning that hand, and only after Yixing falters both his smile and his hand does Kris jump into action, drops his shears so the handle hits his foot, yelps, grabs Yixing’s hand and shakes too vigorously than is typically warranted.

 

“Kris,” he gasps out, letting go fairly soon because his jumping around in pain yanks his grip free. “Nice to meet you.”

 

Yixing looks like he doesn’t know if he should return the formality or ask if Kris is alright, which seems a bit redundant because the taller man, although has stopped jumping around like an overgrown bunny with fairy wings, is now balancing on his good foot and wiggling the other one around.

 

“I’m fine. Yeah. So anyway, I hope moving’s been good for you. And yeah, like maybe it feels nice and all but wanting to wander around the nearest flower patch at hand at random times of the day when I forget to close a window and like the scent gets in the house is honestly not what I need, especially after a long day at work also I’ve never lived near a vampire before, I assume you’ve moved into the empty house next door, which used to belong to a werewolf and honestly he was a complete prick, not accommodating at all, I hope you never have to meet him.”

 

Kris notes that Yixing is gently leading him to the steps of his front porch, so he can sit on the bottom step and probably think about the damage he is doing to any hope of continuing communication with his new _extremely cute_ neighbour.

 

Yixing stands in front of him, a couple metres away, and just happens to be blocking the sun out as well so Kris can get a proper look at his face.

 

Oh, it’s glorious. Plump, reddened lips, almost as though he had been biting them to oblivion right before he encountered Kris. Pale cheek dimpled in concern as he looks at him, brown eyes peering under a fringe of brown locks, vague amusement crinkling the sides of his eyes _just_ a little.

 

Kris shuts up and smiles at him. He likes smiling at people. It isn’t manly but he smiles so often out of habit because usually he gets a smile back and he would rather get a nice person high than a wanderlust high that he can’t control.

 

Yixing’s dimple disappears for a moment, and he stares at Kris in surprise for a split second before two appear, one on each cheek, the right deeper than the left. His fangs glisten with saliva ever so slightly. Kris wonders if the surprise is because he isn’t used to getting smiles very frequently. But that’s not special; he wonders that about everyone.

 

“Yeah, I moved in next door,” Yixing finally replies, voice quiet, fang grazing a lip lightly as he pulls it between his teeth.

 

“I’m a hairdresser.” Kris does not know why he feels the need to blurt that out, but he does. He isn’t so far gone that he doesn’t elaborate, however and just awkwardly leave it there. “It’s why I’m shearing the flowers. I can’t just abuse scissors that way, you know? And I’m under a really strict hand care regimen so plucking them out with my bare hands is just out of the question, you know? So, uh, shears it is.” Kris shuts up pretty fast because he knows his speaking habits and he recognises when his nerves are showing and he doesn’t like it because it is not calm or collected.

 

“Huh, cool,” Yixing replies. He blows the tip of his fringe so it rises minimally in the late summer heat. “I paint. I guess. This or that.”

 

“This or that?” Kris prompts, but Yixing just shrugs so Kris drops it. “I had a brief stint with painting.”

 

Yixing smiles lightly again. “And how did that go?”

 

“Pretty good. I do animals alright. I mean they don’t really look anything like the original reference picture, but artistic flair, you know? My old art teacher told me eggs aren’t a great body reference, but I personally think it’s what makes my work what it is.”

 

Yixing nods wisely, seems to indicate he understands, but does not reply. Kris notes that he doesn’t seem very talkative. Which is great, actually, because Kris talks too much and it creates a good balance and stops him from repeating everything he always says—because he knows himself; he knows that he just cares about the person that’s listening, doesn’t want them to misunderstand anything, to make sure that they know the real Kris, and not one that makes a single simple comment that makes him seem _entirely different_ to how he really is—

 

“You think a lot.” There’s the smile again.

 

“Is it really obvious?”

 

“Kind of. You just look really serious and your eyes squint a bit and look into the distance a lot—“ Yixing cuts himself off this time, looking a little sheepish. Probably at noticing too much, which Kris doesn’t like because there is really nothing wrong with being overly thorough because it means you care and are attempting to control the situation, which is for the best because it means there is no room for misunderstandings. But he supposes Yixing is just embarrassed at speaking that way on their very first encounter.

 

“I suppose I do,” Kris says seriously, hands on his knees. His foot has stopped throbbing, thankfully. “So will I ever see any paintings?”

 

“Sure, there’s a couple of galleries on the far end of the main road.”

 

Kris glares at Yixing, who stares back cheekily.

 

“So this is how it’s going to go?” Yixing shrugs easily and winks. Kris clears his throat and stands up to go back to his shears. He gets another bicep flex in there as he picks them up.Yixing’s eyes were at a point behind him though, unfortunately, but at least he tried.

 

“You can’t like, chop through all these stems with your razor sharp teeth, can you? Not that I would ask you to do that. Unless you want to. For the sake of education and that.”

 

Yixing rolls his eyes, and steps off of Kris's lawn with an easy wave of his hand in farewell. “I don’t know, I’ve never tried. Honestly, I am not that picky about what I put into my mouth, but I think I’ll pass this time. See you around, Kris.”

 

Kris doesn’t reply because if he opens his mouth he’s conscious that something might dribble out.

 

 

 

 

Yixing knows that he’s technically supposed to be knee deep in depression—or at least that’s what Himchan thinks is up with him—but when he sees his roommate hanging upside down on the couch, game console in hand, he sneaks up to his room with a vague greeting at the lump on the couch—who ignores him, by the way—and tears through a few unpacked moving boxes to find his old painting stuff.

 

Honestly, he hasn’t painted in a long time. He used to paint a lot when he lived in the Mortal World, because he was just like anyone else and everyone had a hobby or two. But things had changed, and he had changed. And some things are best left buried.

 

He can’t be bothered to find his easel or a decent canvas, so he digs out some paints instead, and a couple sizes of paint brush. The walls are looking a bit bare, anyway.

 

Yixing drops the paints for a moment, after absentmindedly mixing a few colours together on his large flop of plastic that is his makeshift palette already covered in old, dried patches of paint. He steps back to view the empty wall before him, obscured only by the door. It’s the only wall in his room that isn’t occupied with a bed, wardrobe or bookshelves leaning against it. The room was one of the only ones in the house besides Himchan’s that came with furniture, and it was tastelessly wooden enough that Yixing feels the need to get his head out of his ass long enough to pick up a paintbrush after so long and add a spark of life.

 

Yixing smiles a little after sketching a few things out on the wall. _So the new neighbour’s pretty hot_ , Yixing thinks. He likes attractive people. Sometimes they let him have them after he feeds. He generally tries not to feel guilty about live feeding, because he knows he can’t survive on blood bags alone, but it makes him feel better if the other person gets something nice out of it too. It makes him feel less like the monster he knows he is, and more like a human when he has some of their blood flowing through his body and veins.

 

But for once, he’s pretty sure he’s at least a little bit smitten. He usually wants them _after_ he’s fed. But things feel a little different this time. Yixing’s never seen a fairy he’s ever wanted before. Not one with wings as pretty as Kris’s, anyway.

 

 

 

 

After getting yelled at by Himchan for the fourth time for “defiling” the only home either of them have, Yixing has moved back onto canvas by the end of the week. About two weeks after that and the occasional neighbourly chat with Kris makes him quickly see the advantage of this when it gives him an excuse to go outside, since he tells himself that outside has the best artistic reference there is: nature. And the occasional view of Kris’s backside as he leaves in the mornings for work.

 

So it’s with a strong sense of entitlement that Yixing seats himself in the middle of the blistering heat—that really was not fitting for this late in the year—dead, forgotten flower, stolen in a quick sweep from Kris's lawn when he was sure the man was not at home, in one hand, paint brush in the other. A stack of old paintings leaning against the light blue side panelling of his house behind him. He hadn’t looked at the paintings as he took them out. They are a prop.

 

A couple of hours into the painting, and Yixing’s shirt is lying abandoned next to him on the ground. It’s too hot for clothes, and with his hands full with flower and brush, the palette has to be placed on the ground to his right. It’s several hours later, after many breaks, after he loses his patience with his lack of practise, that he leans down for the millionth time to mix a warmer tone of red when he hears footsteps on the sidewalk. A quick glance up through his eyelashes is all he gives the intruder.

 

“Oh, hi Kris! It looks like you’re back from work. What a coincidence.”

 

Kris is standing a little ways away from him, jacket in hand, bag slung over his shoulder, sweat glistening on the side of neck where the sun hits it.

 

Yixing is already back at work, adding a smidgen of blue to even out the orange tones into a more earthy colour.

 

“I come back home at this hour every single day,” Kris replies. He sounds a little out of breath though, and Yixing has already started to erase the fact that Kris had just been walking home underneath the blisteringly hot, late afternoon sun from his mind. Yixing considers these words a success.

 

“Oh I know, regular working hours and all that. I just got so caught up in painting, that I seem to have forgotten how long it’s been since I started.” Yixing sniffles slightly for dramatic effect before gently dabbling on the paint to the canvas, back cricking slightly from the sudden change in angle. He doesn’t look at Kris once. He doesn’t want to embarrass the man for staring at his chest, which he is fairly sure he was doing.

 

Regardless, he knows how good he looks without a shirt on. He’s heard it moaned at him in between sheets plenty of times. It is what inspires the slight jutting out of his barely-clad right hip.

 

“So how come you haven’t started melting or anything, yet?”

 

_Um._ Well, he wasn’t expecting _that_.

 

“Er, what?” He eyes Kris. The man’s eyes are indeed glued to his chest, but they don’t look aroused—they look confused.

 

“I don’t know. I mean I think there was a vampire or two when I was in middle school but I don’t really know much about you guys. Aren’t you supposed to like, melt in the sun or something? Or at least start to excessively hiss at people? Go up in flames or smoke?”

 

“I met you three weeks ago in the blistering September sun.”

 

“Well yeah. But you had, like, a huge shirt on. I don’t know. Does it like absorb the rays or something? I didn’t really do too well in chemistry or physics or whatever, back in the day.” Kris stretches his arms behind his head a bit; scratches his slight stubble in thought. “I mean I guess tight jeans act as a protective layer on your legs, right? Do you want my sweater or something? It’s a little sticky because I spilt shampoo on it when I was restocking—“

 

Yixing holds the brush still against the canvas. There isn’t really anything fully-formed on it anyway, despite how long he’s been painting it. “But they are legs.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“They’re legs in jeans and shoulders in shirts.”

 

Kris smiles a bit sheepishly, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Sorry? What do you mean?”

 

“I’m pretty human, you know. Is all. Thanks for worrying though, that’s really nice.” Yixing smiles suddenly, feels braver when Kris automatically smiles back so he pats his arm lightly with the wooden handle of his brush. “I’m not going to melt.” Yixing chuckles. “If I feel so inclined I’ll let you know so I can melt over your plants and kill the roots with my goop.”

 

Kris laughs, but it’s a nervous sound and Yixing’s stomach plummets.

 

Luckily, Kris drops it and inclines his head towards the canvas, which unfortunately has an obvious blob of paint where Yixing had accidentally swiped his brush across when he was distracted by Kris’s arrival.

 

“That’s not a problem, is it?”

 

“Nah, paint dries and then you can paint over it like there was nothing underneath. It looks interesting, anyway.” It looks terrible.

 

“So are all of these yours?” Kris asks, pointing at the stack of canvasses behind them.

 

Yixing nods. He doesn’t look at the paintings. Suddenly, he feels completely pathetic. He shouldn’t have brought the paints out. He shouldn’t have taken the old paintings out of storage. He had searched for a long time to find the perfect sized boxes for them so that they could be stored properly. For the long term.

 

He wasn’t ready to take them out. He was being really silly, actually. He never has to try this hard to seduce anyone. _I’m not trying to seduce him_ , Yixing thinks to himself viciously, but he isn’t so sure. He doesn’t know his new neighbour enough to know if he warrants a crush out of Yixing. He was using the paintings, anyway. To open a natural conversation. To get to know the other man better. He hadn’t even been looking at them properly, they were just a prop. He was allowed to use something that gave him grief to his own advantage, wasn’t he?

 

Yixing looks down at the brush in his hand, red-brown mixed paint already starting to look dry. He feels cheap. Not for trying to seduce someone, never for that. But because he was using _this_ to do it.

 

He’s not ready yet. He doesn’t care how good-looking Kris is.

 

Kris seems to have finished looking at them before Yixing was even aware he was looking, because he turns around to smile at Yixing in wonderment, and Yixing manages to rearrange his face just before Kris's head is turned towards him.

 

“They’re really good!” Kris exclaims. His smile is incredibly gummy, and it makes Yixing smile again, although he is also conscious not to show his teeth this time.

 

“Thanks. It’s just that I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

 

“Nah, you have serious talent.”

 

“Thanks. But it’s a skill, not a talent.”

 

Kris rolls his eyes. “Just accept the compliment.”

 

Yixing snorts lightly. “Okay, thanks.”

 

“You don’t have to keep saying thanks.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

 

 

 

Kris takes a deep breath. It helps his back because it stretches it a bit from his position on his tummy. He’s watching Yixing paint next to him from the man’s lawn. It’s a pretty good view.

 

“So do you think a month is long enough for me to start making comments about your hair? Because those sides need to go.”

 

Yixing doesn’t even spare him a glance. Kris is secretly thrilled about that because it seems so familiar and normal. Yixing is very comfortable to be around. A month might be a lot for other people, but he hasn’t been able to see Yixing much outside of work, unless Yixing happens to be painting outside when he comes home. Luckily, these tend to be shirtless affairs. And plus his back view also has dimples. Kris’s internal eyebrows wiggle suggestively as he eyes them once again.

 

“I’ll make an exception for you, Kris. Let’s be warm.”

 

“It’s too hot to be _just_ warm.”

 

“Are you flirting with me?”

 

“Maybe. Is that bad?”

 

“I don’t know. Is it?”

 

“Yeah it is fucking bad, shut the fuck up and take your phone off of silent for fucking once and come get your goddamn dinner. I’m not your fucking maid.”

 

Don’t worry, that was Himchan. He is yelling from the window again. Yixing’s brain out of habit starts to automatically work out the colour combinations to get the precise shade of red that is the current state of Himchan’s face.

 

He is interrupted by the surprise on Kris’s face when he sees it. He doesn’t so much show expression as his eyebrows gently mould his face to resemble equivalent human emotions. Yixing finds this endearing.

 

“Oh, uh, this is Himchan. He lives in the other room in my house.”

 

“Oh my god, Yixing. The _other room_ in _your_ house my ass. Bring your friend if you want, just you're in charge of washing his dishes.”

 

“Hi, I’m Kris.” Kris has stood up, and is holding his hand out to Himchan over by the window. Himchan looks at the taller man calmly.

 

“I’m Himchan. Pleasure to—Yixing? Are you painting again?” The normally snarky attitude Himchan typically adopts slides right off his face.

 

Kris is still facing Himchan, however, so Yixing manages to gesture wildly and mouth for him to _shut up shut up shut up no no_ before Kris whips his head round to face Yixing in confusion.

 

“Oh, um, yeah.” Yixing coolly replies. “Good weather. And stuff.”

 

“So are you two like, _together_?” Kris asks. Yixing smiles in relief. Finally, someone that doesn’t waste time.

 

“No—“ he starts to say, but Himchan cuts him.

 

“No. Don’t even start. Please.” It’s an afterthought, but Kris doesn’t seem to be offended at Himchan’s tone.

 

“Okay. So you’re pretty direct about things,” Kris says.

 

“Yeah. What?”

 

“Nothing, it’s interesting. I would like to be like that as well.”

 

Yixing puts down his paintbrush into a messy stack of paint on the palette. He walks over so he is standing about at the halfway point between where Kris is standing and Himchan is leaning out the window. He sticks out his face so he obscures both of their views of each other.

 

“Stop talking,” Yixing hisses. “Stop it. Do not try to be friends. Don’t do that.”

 

Himchan rolls his eyes and closes the window. Kris blinks at Yixing.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Sorry, it’s just that you can’t be friends with him first.”

 

Kris laughs. “That’s fine with me.”

 

“So are you going to come over for dinner? Since it’s ready and all.” Yixing turns back to his easel and starts to clear everything up.

 

“Yeah, sure, if you don’t mind.”

 

“And we don’t have any flowers in the house,” Yixing adds suddenly as they’re filing in through his front door. “So you don’t have to bring your little war scissors along, or anything.”

 

 

 

 

“So are you like a wizard, then, Himchan?” Kris asks, not two bites into his spaghetti bolognese.

 

“No.”

 

“A cursed troll?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oh. _Oh_ , a vampire?” Kris takes another bite. He seems satisfied with that guess. Yixing wants to snicker but he doesn’t know how this is going to go. He doesn’t know what Kris's reaction will be like when he finds out Himchan is a human. Yixing wonders what Kris would think of that. What he would think of Yixing, a vampire, keeping Himchan around, who certainly doesn’t _appear_ to like him all that much, and is also a human.

 

“He’s a human,” Yixing says after swallowing. He wants to get this over with, in case it turns out that it does need to get addressed.

 

Kris stops eating. “Uh, what?”

 

Yixing sneaks a glance at Himchan, and then back at Kris. Himchan is staring, looking bored as always, at his dinner plate, and Kris is looking at him with his majestic brows graced high on his forehead. The dim ceiling light over the dining table casts the shadow of Kris's dirty blond locks on his saucy spaghetti. It darkens the sauce so it looks more like blood. He panics for a moment, but when he closes his eyes and concentrates on the aroma rising from Kris's plate, sure enough, it’s tomato spaghetti sauce.

 

He doesn’t know what he would do if Kris found out that Yixing had spiked his own sauce with blood from one of the bags in the freezer. He doesn’t care if Kris knows what he is and expects it. Yixing doesn’t care if Kris doesn’t care. _He_ cares.

 

“Yeah I am, so what?” Himchan finally says, looking up to meet Kris's bemused gaze. “I came here like every other human in Halloweentown. Through a portal on October 31st.”

 

Kris drops his fork abruptly. “A portal? How the heck did you find a portal? I thought everyone came over by the Mortal World bus.”

 

“Uh, the what?” Himchan asks.

 

“Like you get your ticket sometime before the 31st and then hop on. All the college kids do it at least once before graduation. My cousin works for the ticket sales office, actually.” Kris has resumed eating, and now stops again, face screwing up at something he must have eaten. “Garlic,” he says weakly.

 

“Ah,” Yixing replies, looking on in vague concern. “Knives aren’t of the pieces of household equipment that I’m better at using.”

 

Himchan snorts into his wine glass. “Using _how_ , exactly, Yixing?”

 

Yixing ignores Himchan. “Sorry, I’m really bad at chopping small things up.”

 

“Yeah, Xing’s better with the larger stuff.”

 

Kris waves the apology away, completely oblivious to the double meanings being thrown around him. “No problem. I’m surprised you can even eat garlic.”

 

_Oh my god._ But before Yixing can say anything, Himchan buts in.

 

“Oh he’s pretty tame, for a vampire, to be honest. I mean of course all the silly stereotypes aren’t true, that’s just humans trying to, uh, dehumanise vampires.”

 

“But vampires aren’t human,” Kris points out. Yixing clutches his fork tightly.

 

“No, but the only difference really is the whole pointy teeth blood sucking thing.”

 

Yixing puts his fork down so Kris doesn’t suspect anything when he turns to look him over. A blush covers Yixing at the sensual look, face filling with blood that isn’t his own.

 

“So if you suck blood, how come you’re eating food with us now?”

 

“Same reasons you do.” It’s Yixing who replies now, face nothing but pleasant. “It’s just that I don’t have blood to pump around, you know? So I get it from other people.”

 

“Who consent!” Himchan adds cheerfully.

 

“Consent? What do you mean? Why did you point that out?” Kris asks.

 

Yixing narrows his eyes at Himchan, who chooses to speak for him. It’s not that Yixing doesn’t mind—he knows he does it because he’s been so used to Yixing’s silence to conversations of substance for nearly a year now, but he hopes the warning is clear through the look he gives the man.

 

Himchan rolls his eyes. “Well obviously he’s not going to _force_ them to give their blood. Plus it’s not usually _just_ blood.”

 

“Oh,” Kris says. “I see.”

 

Yixing lets out a frustrated, but rather whiny sounding, scowl. “Hey. I have to feed pretty often. Stop making it sound like I get around as frequently as I eat.”

 

Himchan butters his piece of garlic bread innocently.

 

“I mean like I use blood bags, usually,” Yixing continues, and suddenly he feels like he has to make Kris understand, before he runs away like the others always do once they’ve had their fill. “But it’s not enough. And I get kinda charged, okay?” He can feel the blush reappearing again. “Like if I don’t feed on something living for long I get kinda restless in that area as well. Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”

 

Kris shrugs, but Yixing can see the slight redness in his cheeks as well. “Well if you both want it, then I guess that’s that, right? And like if you don’t drain them unconscious. But you obviously know to do all that, right?”

 

“Obviously,” says Himchan. But Yixing has already deflated again, because he and Himchan both know the real reason he has a complex about using blood bags for as long as he can stand.

 

“And uh, it’s not always like that.” Yixing simply _has_ to clarify, before he dies of embarrassment. “Like taking blood doesn’t always end like _that_. It’s just sometimes. Maybe.” He can practically hear Himchan yelling _ALL THE TIME_ from across the table, to his mind. But Kris doesn’t need to know about all that.

 

“So is all blood the same, or do you have a preference?” Kris asks, stealing the piece of garlic bread that Himchan had been eyeing mere seconds before it was snatched by Kris.

 

“Oh.” Yixing ponders for a moment. “I mean I guess there are slight differences. Are there?” he asks himself. “Maybe. Well I don’t really know, I usually take from wizards since they can just spell their blood till its replenished enough.”

 

“Wizards, huh.” Kris looks straight at Yixing, who does not flinch.

 

“Wizards.” There’s a question in there somewhere, a challenge. “But I’ve never tried fairy blood before.”

 

Eyebrows shoot up again. _So expressive_ , Yixing thinks admiringly. _He’s a little annoying when he speaks, but so devastatingly handsome all the same._

 

“You haven’t? How long have you been in Halloweentown?”

 

“A long time. We lived on the other end of town.” Yixing shares a glance with Himchan. “But there weren’t really many people around where we lived. It was pretty rural. Not very close to the suburbs.”

 

“Oh, right. So do you wanna try it, then?”

 

Yixing drops his fork. “What? Try _what?_ ”

 

Kris shrugs. “My blood. I mean we’re magical like witches and wizards are, but we can’t really channel our magic so much as it’s inside us. And hey, it could be a character-building experience.”

 

“Character-building,” Yixing deadpans.

 

“Character-building,” Kris agrees. “I don’t mind, if you want. You look kind of pale anyway. Paler then when I first met you a month ago, anyway.”

 

_Ah, shit_. They really had met just a month ago. Why were they having these conversations already? It’s not the same when it’s a nameless stranger who doesn’t ask for explanations, and who he won’t ever see again after they’re finished. But Yixing takes one look over where Kris’s neck meets his strong, sharp jaw, and another, more overpowering part of him has already agreed. He hasn’t fed since he met Kris. “Uh, okay. If you want. Like if it’s okay.”

 

“It’s fine. Let’s finish eating first, though. This tastes pretty good.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Himchan says. Yixing knows him well enough to hear the slight discomfort in his voice, probably from having to have bared witness to the conversation. He tries not to choke on his own food in anticipation.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Uh, so how are we going to do this anyway?” Kris asks, as Yixing gently leads him to sit down in the middle of the couch. It reminds Kris of when they first met, and he had hurt his toe and Yixing had moved him to the porch steps.

 

“Don’t worry about it. I know exactly what I’m doing. You just have to relax. This shouldn’t hurt.”

 

Kris watches the way Yixing eyes the way his adam’s apple bobs at his own words. Kris feels the soft, sultry tones of Yixing’s voice being spoken gently into the side of his neck down to his toes. Yixing is leaning over him, standing in between Kris’s open legs. Kris tries to control his breathing.  _Goddammit, Kris. Be cool._   _Be manly._

 

“I’m going to start now. You okay?”

 

Kris nods wordlessly, then croaks out a “yeah-huh” almost as an afterthought. He doesn’t have time to throw himself out the nearest window for saying that because Yixing has swiped a tongue against his pulsing neck in one second, and pierced his fangs through Kris’s skin in the next second.

 

Yixing lets a soft moan out nearly immediately after having the first taste, blood pouring in small drops that he sucks out and laps up with his tongue, all in one practised movement. Kris yelps at the sensation, hand gripping the material at Yixing’s waist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fairy blood is completely different to wizard blood; that becomes apparent within about the first two drops. This tastes sultry, richer, sweeter, like a nectar made out of sweet, sweet peaches, but still with the unmistakable metallic tang of warm blood.

 

Yixing licks and laps at the blood, the taste a pleasant surprise each time more drops slide down his tongue and down his throat. He let’s himself go more; slides his legs up and over Kris’s, so they’re straddling him and he has his face properly buried into Kris’s neck. If Kris is surprised, he doesn’t show it because he seems just as lost in it as Yixing is, hands wrapping around Yixing’s body, one still gripping his waist, the other roaming his side, almost absentmindedly as he is taken by the sensation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kris doesn’t know why he didn’t expect this to be so intimate. He had been curious, initially, and true—more than a little aroused by Yixing and his delicious looking body and cute fangs. But he’s starting to feel weak and lightheaded, and now his curiosity is even greater, and more overwhelmingly, he wants to taste Yixing too.

 

“Yixing.”

 

The vampire hums, but doesn’t stop. Kris strokes his back, trying to be more forceful but not revoking his consent. “I think you might want to stop now, I’m starting to feel a bit woozy.”

 

Another tentative flick of the tongue from the now completely far-gone vampire.

 

“ _Yixing_ ,” Kris says again. He holds the boy’s shoulders.

 

“ _YOU GRAB HIS ARMS, I’LL GET HIS THIGHS,”_ Himchan’s voice suddenly yells, having entered the room again out of nowhere. Kris yelps in surprise, and more than a little embarrassment, but that doesn’t seem to faze Himchan, who has already grabbed Yixing’s thighs. Kris nearly growls.

 

But they both, after some whining from Yixing, manage to prise the boy’s lips from Kris’s aching, throbbing neck. It doesn’t hurt, and isn’t freely bleeding or anything, much to Kris’s surprise. He holds a hand up to the bite marks as Himchan is still bodily hauling Yixing over to the floor by Kris’s feet. He looks at his fingers. There is no blood on them. He looks down at Yixing.

 

Himchan stares down at the mess of vampire as well, who looks like he is in some sort of daze, what with eyes completely glazed over and body immediately curling into a foetal position.

 

“Oh my god,” Himchan says, after a while. “Why does he look like that? Is he high?”

 

“What?” Kris yells, taking a closer look now that he is sure he isn’t bleeding profusely from his neck.

 

“Look at him.”

 

Kris looks. Yixing has a soft, blissed-out smile on his face.

 

“Yixing, what is my name?” his roommate asks. Silence. “Yixing?”

 

“Uh.”

 

“Beautiful. Now what is my name?

 

“Chan.”

 

“How old am I?”

 

“Twelve in a coupa. Couple hours,” Yixing slurs slightly.

 

“Okay, this is serious.” Himchan looks up at Kris, eyes wide in alarm. Kris gulps.

 

“Uh, why? What’s wrong with my blood? Why did I make him like that?”

 

“No idea. Do fairies normally behave like this, perhaps in a less exaggerated way?”

 

“Well. Flower fairies normally want to go running through a bunch of flowers at any given moment. It’s why I got rid of all mine—“

 

 _“Flowers_ ,” Yixing suddenly shrieks, standing up immediately. There is blood still dripping down the side of his mouth. “ _Beautiful! Fantastic! Sunshine!”_

 

“What the hell is he saying, Kris,” Himchan says, arms flailing slightly and not at all looking calm and collected like he was all the other times Kris has ever seen him. It gives Kris a sense of power and authority.

 

Yixing has started running around the living room, leaping up on furniture and singing nonsensical melodies. “Yep,” Kris starts. “He’s high. He’s acting like a baby changeling.”

 

“I want to fuck in the flowers!” Yixing screams. Kris gulps.

 

“Or not.”

 

Himchan watches as his normally quiet roommate tries to grab hold of the chandeliers and instead jumping up and falling flat on his face. “Well what the hell do we do? You better fix this!” Himchan yells.

 

Kris watches on in vague, slightly dazed amusement. “Take him outside I guess. He’s gonna have to walk it off like the rest of us.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They start to walk to the town centre. Both Himchan and Kris take a firm grip on either of Yixing’s hands, and the happy vampire strolls between them, smile wide and sharp, eyes unfocussed.

 

They walk in silence, aside from the occasional bout of humming from Yixing. Before long, they’ve walked past Kris’s barbershop and Kris starts to feel unease.

 

He’s lucky that the shop is on the edge of the town centre, his house just further down the very same road the shop is on. It means that he doesn’t have to walk past too much flora—that he isn’t as high as Yixing is now. Flowers make his flower fairy blood sing, and it isn’t usually a problem for him when he just travels to this point. But Yixing is still giggling oddly and occasionally breaking free to run around wildly before grabbing hold of Kris’s hand again, breathless singsong on his lips. At this point, they’re going to be walking further in, where the whole centre of the town is covered in nature and plants and flowers and trees and fruit.

 

But the curious thing, Kris notes when he wracks his brain, trying to figure out why he isn’t going just as crazy as Yixing is at all the flowers scattered around on the grassy sidewalks and bushes, is just that—that he isn’t going crazy, like he normally would. Like he normally  _should_. But instead, Kris only feels a minor tingling, not unlike the familiar weakness and lightheadedness he had felt when Yixing had first fed from him.

 

What did this mean? That taking out his fairy blood reduced the drug-like effects of it? Kris’s heart suddenly leaps. He might be on to something. He’ll discuss it with Yixing later.

 

Himchan seems to have noticed this too, however.

 

“So how come you aren’t jumping around like Yixing and that other young fairy fellow down the road?” he asks, and Kris follows where Himchan is looking at to the young man fluttering his wings excitedly at a rose bush a fair while away from where they are walking. No one is paying attention to him. No one cares, since he’s behaving just like any other flower fairy in Halloweentown. But Kris still can’t quench the wave of hatred seeping into his bones. Subtle, like poison, because these are never fully-formed thoughts, but Kris knows how he feels. He has a complex. It isn’t manly to behave that way, not like how he knows he is. This doesn’t make him happy.

 

“I think he’s taken out too much of my blood for it to be working its full effects on me,” Kris replies faintly. He still has his eyes on the man by the rose bush. His wings are dark red and purple, like the roses. He almost blends in himself, like he wouldn’t really even be noticed all that much to any casual person walking by.

 

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

 

Kris turns to face Himchan again, observing him. Yixing isn’t between them anymore, now running around in circles, chasing a butterfly further down the road somewhere in front of them. It's just the two of them now, and he has a few questions.

 

“So how come you’re here, Himchan? In Halloweentown I mean. As a human,” Kris adds, because that’s really the point.

 

The sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the autumn leaves on the trees and scattered all over the street. People are still out and about, poking in and out of the brightly panelled shops running down the street. A perfect, picturesque white picket fence runs down, making the whole landscape before them look streamlined to lead them down right to the other side of town. Kris can still hear Yixing’s distinct trill as he sings with birds that only squawk back at him, and laughter coming from children going out for an early evening ice cream with their parents. For once, he can enjoy it as it is, without strange impulses and needs singing at him in distraction.

 

For once, he can look at the home he grew up in without impairment. He breathes in the fresh air as Himchan talks to him, explaining how it had all been a matter of timing. “I was really upset on my final results day,” Himchan says, stepping on as many crunching leaves as he can as they walk. “I had a whole entire life planned out, that I wanted for myself. But I couldn’t do it and all the colleges I applied to rejected me in the end. I was really bummed out.” He kicks a pile of leaves so they scatter in the light breeze. “Then I met Yixing a few months later, and you know, I always knew about Halloweentown. My grandma used to tell me and my sisters about it in this little storybook she had, but we all thought it was fake at first, just a fairytale you would tell any child. But weird things had happened in my high school one year, and I knew better about it when a lot of things matched up. I think I was secretly thinking about it for a long time, hoping that there was a world out there I could go to if I wanted. And then there Yixing was. So I took him up on his offer, and we came here on Halloween last year. That's about it, really.”

 

Kris hums along to show he’s listening. And he can’t help the slight suspicion, the tiny little drop of jealousy that tinges and encourages his next words. “But why did Yixing ask  _you_  to come along in the first place? How did he know that you would believe him?” Kris has heard about a million stories about the Mortal World. He knows that they think Halloweentown is just a myth, if they’ve even ever heard of it in the first place.

 

“Uh. Well,” Himchan starts. Kris flickers his eyes towards him, slightly narrowed. But that is only from the sun, of course. “Well, honestly I only half believed him. He showed me his fangs, but it was  _Halloween_  for God's sake. I lived alone at that point, and had a dead-end apprenticeship for a job that I seriously hated. I just didn’t have all that much to lose. And then we went through the portal and it was sort of hard not to believe him after that.” Kris notices that Himchan has not fully answered his question.

 

Himchan seems to notice this too, not two seconds later after a quick, amused glance at Kris, who is starting to get a little dizzy again though he tries not to let it show.

 

“I don’t know what he saw in me. He’s really lonely, you know. Back then he sort of looked like he would take whoever would look at him twice. I don’t know if I was the first person he asked. Or maybe he saw how unhappy I was, too, and thought we had this in common. But it looked like an adventure, anyway. And time passes slowly here compared to Earth, so I know I won’t be here forever. And when I do go back, I doubt my parents will have missed me much. Except maybe for a missed phone call every now and then. It just seemed like the only bit of life I would get, at the time.”

 

Kris feels something familiar seeping in, entirely separate from the conversation with Himchan, but he tries to push it back in time to reply. “Your life isn’t over, you know, just because you messed up one year of your life. I mean we have school and university here, too. You don’t need someone else to dramatically change things for you. You can take another year and go back to school, and set your life right again. Nothing is over until you die, and even after that it’s ambiguous.”

 

Himchan stops completely to look at him. Kris stops too.

 

“Bro, that’s deep.”

 

“I think about these things a lot.”

 

“I guess you don’t have many problems then, since you can think so level-headedly.”

 

Kris suppresses the urge to vomit. He thinks about the familiar singing in his veins, slowly replenishing with the aroma of fresh flowers sinking into his nostrils. He thinks about how that makes him want to vomit, too.

 

“Ha. That’s really weird of you to say, actually, because you seem incredibly calm and collected yourself. Very no-nonsense. I admire it a lot. I might make you my role model.”

 

Himchan shrugs. “It looks that way because Yixing needs someone like that and he looks out for me so I have to humour him at least. But neither of us really knows what the fuck we’re doing.”

 

A butterfly lands on Kris’s nose.

 

Kris smiles, and hums, the bass tone of his voice making the butterfly flutter its wings, but not fly away. Kris’s smile gets wider. The sun is warm on his back. The scent of freshly cut grass and saccharine roses filters through his nose.

 

“We should visit my cousin Tao,” Kris says. “He’s just a little further down the road at the ticket office. He’ll want me to say hi.” Kris starts to flutter his wings in time with the butterfly, careful not to send them both into the air—just enough flutter to wave the scents around him and his butterfly a bit. He’s only sharing. And managing the air temperature for the two of them.

 

“Uh,” Kris hears Himchan say, but he tunes it out, opening his ears instead for the butterfly to sing back the scales he then belts out. There is silence from the winged creature, and Kris accepts it. He accepts everything.

 

Because it’s beautiful, and the sun is shining.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Himchan sighs a long-suffering sigh as he watches Yixing and Kris clasping both their hands to the other’s, singing and dancing and Kris occasionally propelling them around with a cheeky flutter of his wings. Kris dwarfs Yixing greatly in size, and with his muscled arms and chiselled jawline and majestic brows, it is indeed a strange sight. Himchan considers that he has now possibly seen it all.

 

The ticket office is right at the end of the road, after it dead-ends. On one side is more buildings, on the other is a cemetery.

 

Now, Himchan has been living in Halloweentown for nearly a year. But he has never seen a sight similar to what is before him now.

 

As he approaches the ticket booth, he notices the men behind the desk.

 

Or is it  _man_? They are one, thick body clad in a single suit, but two ties, head holes and  _heads_. And they’re arguing with each other.

 

Himchan is too busy trying to take it all in to take much note of what they’re grumbling about, however. Above them is a sign saying  _Mortal World Bus, tickets here_  and it's written below on the front of the desk too, and on a sign behind one of the heads, and there’s two tea cups on the booth surface. They look cold and untouched.

 

The two heads themselves are quite a sight. One of them is drooping to the side slightly, wormy, happy smile on his face. Himchan can tell this head at least is Kris’s cousin, because of the single fairy wing sighted behind him. The other side of the body looks sharp—in posture, expression and demeanour. They both have dyed blond hair, one a much messier do than the other, black roots clear against the bleached, burnt colour, the other a warmer honey that reminds Himchan of Kris’s own hair. He wonders if  _both_  of them are Kris’s cousin.

 

“Um, Kris?” Himchan calls out uneasily, throwing the words somewhere behind him, where he can still hear the pair singing and jumping around.

 

“Yeeeeees?” Kris singsongs. He bounds over towards Himchan, Yixing in tow, attached loosely by his hand. Yixing lets out a soft hiccup in greeting.

 

But before Himchan can say anything else, Kris spots the heads behind the booth and yelps loudly, in a slightly jarring, but nonetheless happy, sound.

 

“Taozi!” he yells.

 

“Fanfan!” the honey head replies, seeming to be revived from his previously droopy state. The more severe of the two abruptly stops his string of harsh-sounding words to the other, who did not appear to be paying much attention to them in the first place.

 

“You’re blood is singing again, isn’t it wonderful?” Tao says as the three approach the booth. He’s smiling still.

 

“It’s not,” Kris sighs happily, leaning an elbow against the surface of the booth, chin resting in his open palm. “I hate it. But it’s so happy, isn’t it?” He flutters his wings again, humming slightly.

 

“Well if it’s affecting you so much like this,” the other head says, not looking dazed in the slightest, or impressed, at Kris, “then it’s pretty obvious how you feel about it. Tao hasn’t been like you since he was a teenager.”

 

“Shut your trap, Sehun,” Kris replies, as he pinches his own ear lobe lightly. He hasn’t stopped smiling. It’s starting to mentally scar Himchan. “I just don’t let this happen to myself often.”

 

“Is it because you don’t like seeing me?” Tao pouts. Himchan can clearly see that though Tao seems to have embraced his fairy side like Kris clearly hasn’t, he isn’t anywhere near as energetic as Kris is. Himchan can see how Kris must not be used to this very much. Although neither of them are anywhere near as bad as Yixing, who is spinning on the spot behind them.

 

“I love seeing you Taozi!” Kris exclaims. “It’s just that there’s so many flowers on the way. It’s not fair.”

 

“I could visit you when we’re off work.”

 

“No, the brat will use your hand to punch me when he thinks you aren’t looking. He’s had a nasty look in his eye for the past two years now.”

 

Sehun clears his throat in what he probably thinks is a menacing way. “Excuse me, it’s not  _his_  hand. How many times do I have to tell you. We’ve been cursed equally, I’m not some sort of addition. Not that I’m trying to take away credit for the improvement to Tao’s visage that this obviously is—“

 

Tao flicks Sehun’s nose, and Kris flops off the countertop without warning.

 

“And how can we help you, sir?” Sehun asks politely, eyeing Himchan apathetically. There isn’t a single hint of interest in his eyes; quite the contrast to his companion.

 

“Oh, uh I’m fine, thanks. Kris just wanted to visit.”

 

But then it gets Himchan thinking. Thinking about the words Kris had spoken to him but minutes ago, thinking about thoughts he’s been half entertaining for the past few months or so. He eyes the signs plastered all over the booth.

 

“How much is it for a ticket back to Earth, then?”

 

Tao perks up at the question. “The Mortal World? Oh it’s free. It’s just  that we need a record of humans that go in and out so you’re required to  _buy_  a ticket, but it’s really just letting us sniff you a bit and then handing over a bit of paper.”

 

“Why, do you want one?” Sehun asks.

 

Himchan is about to reply in the negative, when Tao leans forward to look at him, peering up at Himchan from under his messy fringe. “What’s your name?”

 

“Kim Himchan.”

 

“Fantastic.” And then he writes something messily down on a piece of paper on the counter that is already covered and scratched with ink in something that vaguely resembles a list of names.

 

Sehun already has a ticket in his hand, and thrusts it in Himchan’s face, leaving the human no choice but to grab it in surprise.

 

“Run along now, we have lots of customers to attend to,” the burnt blond says snidely.

 

Himchan glances behind him. There’s no one else queued up. But he doesn’t question it. Instead, he directs his attention at Kris, who seems to be gravely confused on the bare ground beside him.

 

“Kris, you okay?”

 

“I just embarrassed myself, didn’t I?”

 

“Well, yeah, but you’re going to be murdered on top of that if you don’t tell me where Yixing is.”

 

Kris lifelessly holds a hand up, pointing in the direction of the graveyard without another word.

 

Yixing is sat, leaning against a gravestone, looking up at the clouds, fluttering his hands behind him like a butterfly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kris throws Yixing—not without undignified, pledges-to-go-to-the-gym-more-often difficulty—over his shoulder, gives one withering glance at Himchan to catch up to what he’s doing, before he takes a deep breath and  _runs_.

 

Himchan supposed it’s efficient, because it stops the fairy from inhaling the scents of the flowers, and gets them all home faster, but he isn’t one for much exercise and grumbles on his brisk jog all the way back to their front lawns.

 

By the time Kris has flopped Yixing over onto the ground in a great huff, Yixing seems half at his own mind again. He rolls over so he’s on his back, looking up at Kris.

 

“So I’m thinking we should have an arrangement, Kris.”

 

Kris sighs. “I’m thinking so too, Yixing. But with conditions.”

 

“What.” Yixing seems perfectly calm now, but then he boops his own nose and Himchan has to suppress an eye roll and the now more commonplace urge to vomit.

 

“You can’t take as much blood as you did. And if you’re going to run around, then I’m not going with you to town because the positive effects for  _me_  wear off as soon as I get flooded with flowers again.”

 

“Whatever you want, babe,” Yixing says easily, before flopping down once more on the grass, unconscious, much to Himchan’s dismay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They start on their blood arrangement two weekends later, when Kris is off of work and Yixing starts to feel the beginning of withdrawals from not having fresh blood. Nothing much has changed apart from that. Yixing continues to paint in the afternoons when he feels like it, but mostly lounges around reading. Himchan sticks to his games, and occasionally peeks at their finances. It’s not really a problem, given Yixing’s vast inheritance from all sorts of ancient relatives, but Himchan still likes to call himself responsible and on top of things, and plus he likes numbers and Yixing has a lot of them on his tax returns.

 

Nothing much has changed, but Yixing  _has_  stopped riding the boy behind the sandwich counter when he feels like it. Painting has taken its place in his priority of interests. Kris’s behind on his way off to work is  also slowly climbing up said list. He doesn’t know too much about the other people in Kris’s life, but he never sees anyone entering or leaving the house that looks threatening so Yixing doesn’t really mind.

 

The second time Yixing feeds from Kris, he has slightly better self-control from the addictive sweetness of Kris’s blood, and after Kris manages to prise him off, they dutifully stay away from the town, and Yixing spends most of his time running in circles on his front lawn. Kris only intervenes when he realises he has left his garden shears out in the open. He himself gets a few hours of sunshine beating down on his face, and full control over his mind. Nature looks a lot better when you are in a position to clearly sense it.

 

The third time, it’s on the kitchen table and Yixing still isn’t  _quite_  sure where exactly he and Kris stand, but he takes it as a positive when Kris doesn’t complain when he straddles him from the start.

 

The blood is sweet, as always, but by this time Yixing knows what to expect, and Kris has a firm grip on his shoulder to push him away when he’s had enough.

 

It doesn’t take long before Yixing sighs slightly and Kris starts to prise him off of his neck. Just like the first two times, blood doesn’t spill from the wound. Kris barely feels lightheaded at all. Not from blood loss, not from flowers, not from anything.

 

He just feels like himself. He hardly feels it when Yixing slips off of his lap.

 

“Your wings are so pretty.”

 

“Thanks.” Kris had fluttered the ends to curve outwards a bit so he could sit comfortably.

 

“I want ice cream.”

 

“Is there any in the fridge?”

 

“No, I want to go and buy it from the ice cream parlour.”

 

“I thought one of the conditions is that we don’t go outside.”

 

“But last time was a bit boring. And it’s right near where you work. Not in the  _centre_  centre at all. Hardly any flowers on the way.”

 

Kris shrugs. Yixing is smiling pleasantly at him, humming a random tune between his responses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yixing wonders in the back of his mind if he has some sort of boy-behind-the-counter fetish, because he doesn’t think he’s seen many cuter smiles than the one the boy behind the counter of the ice cream parlour has.

 

Of course, he isn’t quite in his right mind either, and while he is clutching Kris’s hand, his heart beating faster than it had before the man had clutched it tightly as they entered the shop, he also seems to be forgetting the smile of the boy the hand is attached to.

 

They buy their ice cream, and just as Yixing starts slurring out a really dreadful chat up line (“Are you an angel? Because you dropped from heaven. To here….” He had sort of trailed off after that. Kris had winced and apologised at the confused looking boy with the plump cheeks), another boy appears, this one with spiked up honey locks, nearly as tiny as his friend next to him.

 

Except this one isn’t friendly at all, doesn’t tell them to have a nice day. This one hisses at Yixing with a protective arm around the other one’s waist, until Yixing lays the bills down on the counter and Kris can drag him outside, onto the closest bench he can find that is far away from any shrubbery.

 

“He hissed like a snake,” Yixing giggles. He lets out his own hiss. His eyes curve as he does it, and Kris can’t help a sloppy smile in return through a mouthful of vanilla ice cream.

 

Luckily, Yixing hasn’t been much at all like anything he was the first time, at this point. This Yixing just seemed a bit more easy going. And cute.

 

“I’m not a snake,” Yixing repeats, a couple of moments of silence later. “I’m just a human too.”

 

There’s people bustling about, as per usual, but Kris’s eyes are completely glued to Yixing, who is now hunched over, picking at a loose string at the bottom of his shirt. He’s fidgety, still, but there’s something off about it too. It seemed like such a contrast compared to how he was just moments ago.

 

“What do you mean?” Kris asks.

 

“It’s why I looked at you the first day, you know. Not just because of your really nice ass”—Kris’s mouth goes dries up fairly quickly at that “—but because you were destroying the flowers. How could you destroy the flowers?” Yixing asks, glaring at Kris accusingly. “It’s nature. It’s natural. It’s what I want to be, but I can’t because I’m a monster but  _you_  were the one doing the monstrous act.”

 

Kris doesn’t know how to respond. Yixing picks up where he left off half a minute of silence later.

 

“It was really good for me, you know. You were the nice thing but you were also really awful. And I’m the monster but I wouldn’t do that. It made me feel really good about myself. At your expense, of course. But it shed a new light on how I thought about things.”

 

“Well, uh. I’m really glad I helped you out. And thanks for the kind words.”

 

Yixing playfully punches Kris on the shoulder, but Kris doesn’t feel too great.

 

“It’s just my perspective. What’s yours? Why do you have to not be a fairy at all times? Your wings are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.” Yixing smiles at them and sighs. It fills Kris up with a strange sense of pride—strange, because he’s never thought to be proud of his wings. They were like any other fairy’s, but were duller in colour, more muted grey and blue and specks of silver and black, unlike the other flower fairies that seemed to be born with the brightest eye sores on the planet. His were more like dull grey cirrus artemisia compared to the chrysanthemums and roses everyone else seemed to have.

 

“I have a complex,” Kris says, absentmindedly, still thinking of his wings. They flutter behind him involuntarily. They’re light, like air, but heavy enough to be a reassurance on his back. No, he wasn’t ever hateful of his wings. It was just everything else that came with it. It was what the wings meant. “I feel just like you do now, but worse, and constantly if I let myself go. There’s no control. I feel like I’ve spent most of my life not knowing the real me. I don’t even know if there’s a real me at this point, or if I’m just using that as an excuse to hate whatever I am now. That somehow when I discover who I really am, I’ll be a lot happier about being a fairy.”

 

Yixing tugs at Kris’s shirt, and Kris turns his head to face him, sees the confusion on Yixing’s face.

 

“You don’t have to discover a damn thing, you know,” Yixing says fiercely. There’s still a hint of fairy madness in his eyes, though. “You’re perfect just as you are. You can take whatever you want and leave the rest. Keep your wings, keep your mind. You do it anyway, don’t you? You live in that house all by yourself, and you don’t keep any flowers near it. You already live the way you want to. If you’re lonely and no other fairy is like you, then screw them all and have me instead. I can have your blood and get rid of anything you want when it gets too much.”

 

Kris wants to jump up and scream in glee, but he rolls his eyes instead, and refuses to get his hopes up. “You aren’t in your right mind, Yixing. How can you expect me to take what you say right now seriously?” Kris is conflicted, because he knows he shouldn’t be deluded about what this all means. But it’s difficult to acknowledge exactly what’s going on  between them when Yixing seems so comfortable with blurring the lines.

 

Yixing is turned towards him fully now, ice cream all but forgotten in his hand, slowly melting down over his hold on the cone. The sun hits his eyes, and Kris can see a shadow of himself reflected back in the warm brown irises, pupils wide and dilated.

 

“But doesn’t your blood look pretty underneath my skin?” Yixing whispers.

 

Kris’s heartbeat stutters, before picking up like a drum pounding in his chest. “I-it does, Yixing,” he stammers out. But this moment still seems important, and the earlier words Yixing said still ring in his ears. “And you can take as much of it as you want, and it won’t make you any less human.”

 

“It won’t?” Yixing asks. The corners of his mouth are still slightly turned down though, the light in his eyes still absent.

 

“Of course not. It’s just that you have different needs. I mean if anything, you’re  _more_  human than the little earthlings in the Mortal World. You get to talk to your food and ask permission to take it and then even treat them to some ice cream afterwards.”

 

“But you’re paying,” Yixing whispers. And he passes out soon after without another word between them, because Kris doesn’t have anything else to say, ice cream flopping over cleanly onto the cement beneath their feet.

 

Kris quickly finishes his own, and then carries the vampire, that is warmer with his blood then it was that morning, home.


	3. Chapter 3

Kris doesn’t say much to Himchan when he brings Yixing over, miming that he doesn’t want to wake him up. Himchan nods easily and sees him out the door.

 

When Yixing wakes up, he’s lying down on the living room sofa, and he can see Himchan seated in the sofa chair opposite, curled up in a ball, hands deep in his sweatshirt pockets, eye boring down at him.

 

“You don’t look happy,” Yixing croaks out. He immediately clears his throat.

 

“You’re both kind of shitty, you know.”

 

Yixing furrows his eyebrows, not taking his eyes off of Himchan as he pushes himself up into a seated position. He stretches a little. He feels groggier than usual. “What do you mean?” he asks, hesitantly.

 

“I don’t know what you two think of each other, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re just using Kris.”

 

_Ugh._ Yixing doesn’t want to discuss this.

 

“Don’t give me that look,” Himchan continues, voice devoid of emotion. “You are so needy. You refuse to take responsibility for anything, and instead hide your problems behind distractions like bodies and, or, fairy blood.”

 

“What’s your point.” Yixing leans forward so his arms are resting on his knees and he can look at Himchan properly. He looks the same as ever, black hair, scowling mouth, cold eyes. He’s that way because he knows Yixing just needs a statue to sit with.

 

“It makes me want to ask. What the hell am I? I’ve been thinking about it lately, and I can’t imagine why I’m still here with you. It’s been a year. We shouldn’t need each other anymore.”

 

Yixing scoffs. “Is this what this is about?” he says. “You’re just jealous? It’s only once every couple of weeks, maybe. You’re my best friend, I would never just abandon you or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Sometimes Yixing forgets that Himchan is only nineteen, which is not so much younger than him that it’s a chasm, but a distinct difference all the same.

 

“No, I’m your only friend,” Himchan says. “You’re completely cut off, Yixing. You estrange yourself from your own family and friends, and then you distract the empty spaces away. You do it all fine on your own. What the hell do you need me for?” Himchan looks straight at Yixing, and Yixing wants to flinch but he doesn’t. It’s not like he estranges them on purpose. Himchan doesn’t understand a damn thing. He’s always hated it when Himchan looks at him that way, like he knows which words to use to completely wipe Yixing out, but he chooses not to use them, and let’s Yixing know that with a single look.

 

“What do you want?” he asks instead.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“What do you want me to do? What do _you_ want to do? What’s changed? It’s been a year like this, and you haven’t said anything before.”

 

Himchan uncurls his legs and stretches them out so they hit the floor. They’re long, Yixing notes. Longer than they were a year ago.

 

“It’s nearly Halloween. Of course I have to think about going back around this time. I always told myself that I’d go for “now”, but I’d have to rethink everything while I was gone, too.”

 

Yixing stands up slowly. “Channie, what are you saying?”

 

“Nothing. I’m just thinking, okay? I’m not going to be here forever. It’s just that I’m questioning your decisions. We needed each other’s company a year ago. But now you have Kris and it’s better, because it’s not one-sided anymore. He’s using you, too.”

 

Yixing sits again, suddenly feeling tired. “I know. It’s what our agreement is based on.”

 

“But you like him, right?”

 

Yixing smiles up at Himchan wryly. “Obviously. And I think he knows that too. I think he feels the same.”

 

Himchan doesn’t smile. He’s as stony as ever. “And I bet you show that real well. If you’re so sure on that, you could have actually made all of this mean something, but now he probably thinks he’s just like everyone else you use, except that you both use each other in the end. I think he’s perfect for you. You’re both shitty in your own ways. You both have your little identity issues. You’re both so caught up in how _not_ you are compared to everyone else. You’re just using each other to make your awful perceptions of yourselves seem excusable. You’re using each other to create a comfortable place for you to both be shitty to your own selves. Really, it’s perfect.”

 

“Oh shut the fuck up!” Yixing yells suddenly. “What do you even know? You’ve had everything handed to you on a plate, and acceptance wherever you go. The only thing that messed up with you was your own fault!” He hates himself already, when he sees the look on Himchan’s face, but he doesn’t allow himself to see it for much longer, because he’s already on his feet, dragging them across the floor, carrying himself up the stairs, into his room, though he doesn’t feel like he’s walking on much of anything.

 

 

 

 

Yixing is ignoring calls again, because it’s what he does best—maybe even better than painting.

And it's not like he receives many calls from many people. It isn't much of an occasion with him. But there's still a smidgen of guilt when he sees Kris's number show up on his phone screen two seconds before he decides he isn't going to do anything about it.

 

He _is_ still painting. He’d been ignoring his wall for a while, when he had been busy with his half-hearted sketches for Kris, who only ever saw pure technique and no art. But now he feels ready.

 

It wasn’t anything dramatic or beautiful, either. It was a forest, because trees were repetitive and large and he needed the actions of painting more than he needed the actual completed piece.

 

Trees are natural, and nature is his safe place.

 

And it gives him plenty of time to think.

 

He thinks first about painting. He thinks about why he started, why he stopped, and why the reason he started wasn’t good enough for him to keep picking up a paintbrush.

 

Where had it all gone wrong?

 

Probably with himself. He had taken his parents’ death remarkably well, had accepted the inheritance with good grace. He came from an old family, and they were nothing if not extremely impersonal. _But his sisters_.

 

Yixing sighs heavily, and throws on a few more leaves. They had been nothing but kind to him, and he had left them so suddenly. He knew it was the right decision; he couldn’t just explain to humans that he had become a _vampire_ , that he had been turned against his will, and then dumped on the doorstep to a world that was real-life _Halloween_ and then expect them to understand. He had been seventeen at the time. No one would have taken him seriously, not even seriously enough to consider sending him away until he got “better”. His sisters had already taken a loss—they could take another. They had each other, at the very least. It had been years before he realised there were ways back to the Mortal World, as the people called Earth here, and by then he knew it was too late to just make a sudden entrance into lives that had probably already moved past him.

 

And that was when the painting stopped. In those early years, when his self-control was still lacking, he couldn't pick up a brush and paint with the hand that did not belong to him anymore, but to the monster he had become. He was always weak, always starving, as he tried to fend off the thirst as great as he could, but after months of holding off and driving himself to near-death, he couldn't stop himself when the next human he encountered stood too close. The man he had first fed on only just got away with his life, and after that, Yixing just couldn't do anything. He didn't deserve anything. He spent most of those days in a storm of confusion, dizziness and immense guilt and hunger, and everything else other than basic survival was a novelty that he simply didn't deserve, as far as he was concerned.

 

Of course, not long after was when all the _distracting_ started to happen. Yixing realised that taking blood didn't have to be such a violent act if the other person got something out of it too.

 

So he delivered. And he delivered well. It was someone else every other week and the rest was history.

 

And now, with five years standing firmly between that past self when he had first been bitten and now, Yixing understands himself; he really does. He knows why he does the things he does. Knows that he tries to have quirky moments in front of Himchan on purpose, in the hopes that it will entertain him and he’ll stay. Knows that he doesn’t have anyone else except for the human boy that had told him a year ago that he was “just a little pasty, but nothing a punch to the face couldn’t fix”. Knows that Himchan saved him in lots of ways, but most of all, was his brother when he knew he didn’t deserve one. Was the one that took him by the hand and showed him he could be something better.

 

And now there’s Kris.

 

It’s a conflict, because Yixing can see how things can go. They can continue as they are, the two using each other—deep ice cream covered conversations all they want, that really mean very little when neither of them ever takes it any farther than that—and maybe one day Yixing would even use him like he’s used to; like he’s used all the other boys with the too-wide smiles and eager nods.

 

Or Yixing could try something new. He could let Kris in. In more ways than the usual one. The thought brings a smile to his face. He could certainly try. It seems like something worth trying. It’s been a while since he could pick up a paintbrush properly. He doesn’t think using Kris is half as bad if he can take all of it and turn it into something beautiful. He wants Kris to see nature the way Yixing himself sees it. It’s beautiful and he could share it.

 

He picks up a smaller paintbrush than the ones he had been using, and mixes a periwinkle, dusky colour—the same colour as Kris’s wings.

 

 

 

 

He had started by taking a large stack of blood bags from downstairs, and taking them straight up to his room without a single look at Himchan, who was still in the living room, playing on his games console as per usual.

 

Yixing is on a mission.

 

He locks himself into his room for six days. No leaving the house, and still no answering calls. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now anyway, and he doesn’t know what Kris will say to him when he next sees him, after everything Yixing had last said to him. He had only known the man for a few weeks, and he doesn’t know how he feels about giving the sort of advice that he had when they barely knew each other. He doesn’t know how he feels about offering all of him up like he had, when Kris didn’t even know the half of it.

 

Instead, he wants to show him how they can help each other, instead of just using each other. He knows Himchan is right, and that nothing will change if they continue like this. He doesn’t want tiny parts of Kris just to make himself feel better. He wants all of him, no matter how it makes him feel.

 

He finishes in a flurry of brushes and paints and turpentine. He barely spares the finished product one last satisfied glance before flopping over for the night, letting time dry the paint on the canvas as he rests.

 

 

 

 

“I have something for you,” are the first words that leave Yixing’s lips after Kris opens his front door to see the vampire standing in his doorway, hands clutching a canvas, painted side facing towards himself so Kris can’t see anything.

 

“You’ve been ignoring me a bit,” Kris says instead.

 

“Yeah,” Yixing replies. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been locked up in my room painting something. I wanted to show it to you if you want to see it.” _He better say yes,_ Yixing thinks gruffly. He looks and feels like shit and only has the shower he had taken hastily fifteen minutes ago between his current self and the one that was hiding away for six days. He knows Kris probably has no idea what’s been going on with him this past week, but he isn’t going to be passive anymore.

 

Kris doesn’t say anything, but let’s Yixing inside.

 

It’s the first time Yixing has ever been inside Kris’s house. It looks just like his own, but the walls and floors are painted and carpeted in off-white and grey colours. Black leather and chrome furnishings.

 

Kris leans against the back of one of the larger sofas, facing Yixing but not inviting him further inside the house. He looks at Yixing, and there’s no malice or confusion. But there’s a little frown on his lips and a smidgen of hurt in his eyes that Yixing wants to wipe away.

 

“Yes?” Kris prompts after a while, when Yixing still hasn’t said anything.

 

Yixing clutches tighter at the canvas, but he squares his shoulders and looks straight at Kris.

 

“I sort of have something to say.”

 

Kris nods, and not unkindly. He looks like he isn’t sure what has happened between them to warrant such a serious look.

 

“I wish you hadn’t heard everything you had about me. I know you must think I’m a certain messed up way, but recently I’ve figured out why I hate that you think that so much.” Kris stares blankly, further confused. “I’ve been trying to pull myself together for a while,” Yixing continues. “I wasn’t from Halloweentown originally. I was bitten and turned by a vampire a few years ago, and I’ve hated what I am since. It made me feel like a monster. And I used a lot of people in that time to make myself feel better, to prove that I wasn’t like that. And when the bloodlust got too bad to pretend anymore, I distracted myself from thinking about how it made me feel instead.

 

“And I know that I barely know you except for a few weeks, but I can see that we’re sort of the same in a large number of ways. It makes me happy that I can help you out like you’ve been helping me. But I don’t want it to just be that. I don’t want to just use the parts of you that suit me. I’d like to try things out with you properly, if you want. Not just because we can both help each other.” And now Yixing has to blush like crazy, and he knows he’ll have to feed again soon if things keep going like this, but he can’t help how helplessly _affected_ he feels around Kris.

 

He has to look down. If there’s a rejection, he doesn’t want to see it played out in his mind ever again. “This is sort of a confession.” Okay, he’s got that part out at least. He shuffles his feet to the side a bit. “I’m sorry that the reason we got closer was because I was taking advantage of you. I know it helped you out too, but I don’t think it’s going to get us anywhere in the long run, and before you get sick of me and throw me out, I want to make this into something substantial before that has the chance to happen. If you want.” He’s speaking too fast and it all comes out in a rush.

 

“I want it,” Kris says, calmly.

 

Yixing blanks. “What? No. _No_. I’m not finished! I didn’t tell you how I feel!”

 

“You sort of did.” Kris is smiling. It’s not gummy this time, but the joy in his eyes is exactly the same, and it pushes Yixing to continue.

 

“I like you! You’re very attractive and very, very kind and you pay attention to me and make me feel like anything _but_ a monster and you make it all seem so trivial and it’s a huge plus that you’re so good for me but if I shove that all aside, I am actually very, very fond of you. And it’s still too early to be the greatest love of all time or anything, but I can’t _not_ want to try to find that with you.”

 

And then Yixing nearly vomits a little in his mouth, and shoves the painting into Kris’s hands, glancing up once to see the man gaping and just as red-faced as he is, although he still hasn’t stopped smiling.

 

And then Kris looks down at the canvas, and gasps. Yixing knows what it is he sees, but his knees wobble when there isn’t a discernible reaction yet.

 

It’s Kris’s wings—same colours, same shapes—fashioned into a humungous flower that looks more like it has leaves than petals. Surrounding it are brightly coloured flowers in all sorts of different shapes, sizes and colours.

 

But it’s the _paint_ itself that is magnificent. All the smaller, brighter flowers in the background are out of focus and flatly painted. The composition of them itself is completely accurate, and there’s no mistaking what each species of flower is, and it would be especially apparent to a flower fairy like Kris. But compared to the thick, generous brush strokes that make up the cirrus artemisia in the centre, the detail is nothing. Every line, highlight and shadow is pronounced and shaped to make the most beautiful canvas Kris has ever seen. The paint has been layered on thickly, and shapes the edges of each leaf petal, dotted before it had completely dried so that it was still textured and glistened in the light of the room like the real flower. It’s not feminine and flowery like the other parts at all, but it’s the most beautiful thing in the entire painting.

 

And Kris starts to finally get the hint. He gets an inkling of an idea of how Yixing sees him, how he sees himself. Sees how things might have been a little black and white in his head for a while. He looks back at Yixing, who doesn’t meet his eyes and is busy chewing his lip, shoulders hunched over.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Kris whispers. Yixing immediately stiffens. “But this painting might actually be several times more good-looking than you are.”

 

Kris doesn’t understand later on if Yixing even caught the humour in what he said, because in that moment Yixing has broken down into tears and kneels on the floor, face cradled in his hands.

 

“Yixing!” Kris yells. He hastily leans the painting against the back of the sofa and kneels down in front of Yixing, flailing his arms about. “I’m just joking! I mean it is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and that anyone has ever done for me. I love it! I love you! I mean no—no I don’t. Not yet! But I want to say those words to you really, really soon! I like you too, Yixing! Yes, yes, yes—“

 

Instead, Yixing wipes at his face, and Kris sighs in relief at the smile, before it’s turned into a choked intake of air when Yixing jumps onto his lap and kisses him right on the mouth. There’s just a peck, and then another, and then another. Yixing sucks on his lip like he knows the sweetest nectar is right behind Kris’s skin, but he doesn’t allow himself any of it. Instead, he savours the skin that protects it, and all that aside he makes Kris moan very loudly.

 

Yixing breaks free from his lips. “Don’t even misunderstand,” he says through a hiccup. “I’m crying because Himchan’s been mean to be recently. It’s certainly not because this might be the first time I’ve liked anyone like this. And you’re going to have to give me a yes or a no precisely at this point if you want to go further.”

 

Kris does not look away from Yixing’s bottom lip except for the surprised glance up into Yixing’s eyes at that. He wonders if the fangs will get in the way, and it sends a thrill down his spine. “I just said yes like three times.”

 

“Yeah but say it again.”

 

“Yes, oh my god.”

 

And then he’s pushed back straight onto the floor, and Kris opens his eyes briefly to see the painting next to them, and his breath is taken away all over again.

 

His eyes lock with Yixing’s for a split second, and he’s aware that the room is completely silent besides their mingling breaths. And then Yixing buries his kisses into Kris’s throat, and Kris runs his hands all down Yixing’s body as he lets out another quiet moan. (It’s not his last. Or his loudest.)

 

 

 

 

Yixing wakes up the next morning in a peaceful, but completely spent state. He feels kind of sticky and gross but also like humming like he always does when he’s happy, and not just because he may have taken the _tiniest_ drop of Kris’s blood from his lips last night either.

 

They’re cuddled together in Kris’s bed, dark sheets bunched up around them. Kris’s wings are fluttering gently as he snores, laying out straight behind him as he rests on his side, spooning Yixing.

 

As he slowly comes to, he takes in the bedroom they’re in. He hadn’t really been noticing much of anything last night, while he was otherwise occupied, but he can see now how much the room reminds him of Kris. It’s like the rest of the house—black and white and metal on the furniture, grey on the walls and floors. If Kris chooses to hang the painting up, it would stand out garishly, Yixing thinks guiltily.

 

But really he knows he was smooth and that Kris wouldn’t think that. He would at least have it hung up whenever Yixing visited, so Yixing was satisfied to not enquire too much about it for his own sake. He knew that he had come to some conclusions over the past week, but that doesn’t mean Kris is there with him either. If Kris still wants to admire the technique in the painting before he can see the art, then that’s fine too. Yixing can wait.

 

Kris is fidgeting in his sleep as he slowly awakens when Yixing catches sight of some picture frames on the dresser across the bed. If he squints, his heightened vampire senses can see family photos and occasional pictures of Kris himself, albeit much younger. Yixing smiles. There is plenty of time after all this to get to know the people in the photos.

 

“How old were you, in that picture?” Yixing asks when Kris smiles at him sleepily. He juts his chin out to indicate the one he means.

 

Kris squints as well for a moment. Yixing caresses an eyebrow shyly.

 

“Ah, I must have been fifteen or something. It was my scene phase. We don’t talk about that.” He chuckles lightly and brings Yixing’s hand down with his own so he can kiss the tips of his fingers.

 

But Yixing wants to know more. “How come you change your name? You mentioned it, once, a long time ago.” It had been on one of the days Kris had come home from work to see Yixing painting.

 

Kris rests Yixing’s hand against his cheek. “Well it’s like the photo.” He quirks an eyebrow towards the old picture frame. “I’ve had lots of phases in my life. It sounds silly to everyone else, but I have a complex about this sort of stuff. I’m the only flower fairy I’ve ever met that acts the way I do, or at least hates it. I get told it’s not normal or natural. I don’t know where I fit in if I don’t even fit in with my own species.”

 

Kris pulls Yixing towards him so the man is resting his head on his chest, arms wrapped around each other. “I know you’ve thought a lot of your own things through, Yixing. But I still have my own issues that I haven’t confronted yet. And I don’t know if I’m ready to, at least not at the same time as you. So we’re not always going to be on the same page.”

 

“It’s okay,” Yixing whispers. Sunlight has started to filter through the open blinds to land on their entwined bodies. “We can work this stuff out together. It doesn’t always have to be mutual, we don’t always have to lean on each other at the exact same times. You can have as long as you need.”

 

“Thanks, Xing. For this, and for the painting.” Kris muzzles Yixing’s hair with his nose, and Yixing feels a pang at the nickname. It reminds him of Himchan.

 

“And honestly I’m in a pretty good place right now,” Kris continues. “Last night was pretty manly. Heck, it was manly as fuck. I think I can start dismantling this thing.” Yixing catches Kris pointing at his forehead as Yixing goes in to pinch his cheek with affection.

 

 

 

 

Kris leaves within an hour after more lazy kisses in bed, an intimate shower together and a quick breakfast that he cooks up for the both of them. Yixing grits his teeth as he swallows the burnt toast with difficulty, maintaining a perfectly dimpled smile for Kris, who returns it with his own innocent gummy one. _I’m doing it for our future,_ Yixing thinks. _I’m doing it for the promise of love_.

 

Yixing returns home after Kris leaves, heart heavy. He knows he has to face Himchan soon. _I’ll do it as soon as I see him—_ except there he is, stirring soggy cereal on the kitchen table, in plain view as soon as Yixing unlocks and pushes the front door open. Himchan immediately looks up, and Yixing meets his gaze.

 

He wonders what he sees in Yixing. Does Yixing look just as pale and sad as Himchan does? _Although Himchan probably didn’t have amazing sex like I just did, so probably not—_

 

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop.” Flat tone, eye roll.

 

Yixing launches himself at the human boy, tears already clogging his throat. Himchan is still in his purple fuzzy dressing gown that Yixing had bought him last Christmas. He wails profusely from Himchan’s lap, which is still stony and uncomfortable no matter how much fluffy material is covering it. But then he feels an awkward pat on his back, and he knows everything will be fine.

 

“It’s nearly Halloween,” Himchan says. Yixing sniffs. He knows where this is going; he’s prepared for it.

 

“It is.”

 

“I think I have to go back.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah.” Yixing hiccups. “I know you probably didn’t expect this boring old life with me anyway, when you came along. I’m sorry I thought it was okay to just lead you away.”

 

“It was my own decision, Xing. Don’t worry about it. And you’re absolutely insane. We’ve had a great time.”

 

Yixing stares at him through squinted eyes.

 

“Well, when you weren’t like wallowing in depression and stuff. But all the other times were pretty good.”

 

“And now you have to go back,” Yixing says sadly.

 

Himchan nods. “I can’t run away forever. I’m still only nineteen. I still have the chance to turn things around. If I leave, then we can each give each other the chance to step away and change things.”

 

“That’s really deep,” Yixing wails. “And I’m so, so sorry I said those things. I know you’re right—I’ve always known. And now I have Kris, so I won’t be lonely or anything. So don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

 

“That’s okay.” Himchan’s pats have gotten steadier on Yixing’s back. “But I want you to know that if you continue similarly as you have been, then you still have a dependency issue that you won’t have resolved, and I don’t support any decisions you make with Kris that condones that. I want to be clear.”

 

“O-okay.” And then Yixing lets out a sob, because he’s been holding it in a while, and he knows there isn’t long before he has to let his little brother go.

 

“I don’t give a shit about Kris, but make sure he takes care of you and feeds you regularly,” Himchan says sternly after a bout of silence and the occasional hiccup from Yixing.

 

Yixing grimaces. “I think I’ll be watching my diet myself, thanks.”

 

“And you know I’m a firm believer in healthy opportunism. Especially when it’s about money. Get a free haircut every now and then.”

 

Yixing stares at Himchan. There are tear tracks on his face, which somewhat surprises Yixing, but also a happier glow to his skin. His lips are quirked up, and the normally evil-looking expressions he sports are completely gone. He ruffles the boy’s hair.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Yixing replies dryly.

 

 

 

 

“And you have your sunscreen?”

 

Himchan scowls for about the fifth time that day. “I’m not going on holiday, Xing.”

 

“I know, but I’ve never sent anyone off on anything else.”

 

“Just don’t cry again.”

 

Yixing promptly bursts into tears again, and Kris has to hold him around the shoulders, looking like he is trying to comfort his boyfriend to anyone else, but in reality he is taking the hint that Himchan wildly gesticulates at him with his eyebrows, and attempting to smother the sounds with his shirt. Kris has never had to deal with wailers before. Kris will find that this will become somewhat of a problem as their relationship progresses, as Yixing is extremely in touch with his emotional side and believes strongly that crying solves everything, or at least makes things slightly better.

 

“It’s not like I can’t buy this stuff in the Mortal World anyway.”

 

“I know,” Yixing says, pouting up at Himchan from where one half of his face is smooshed against Kris’s shirt. “But it makes me feel so much better that I might be sending you off ready to face the world.”

 

Himchan rolls his eyes, but Yixing can see the tremble in his lips. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small pouch.

 

“This is for you.” Himchan starts, but Yixing cuts him off. “You can exchange it into mortal cash on the bus, but I want you to have it. You know I don’t need it.”

 

“I don’t want charity,” Himchan grumbles, but doesn’t exert too much energy with resisting when Yixing grabs his hand and closes it around the pouch. Before he lets go, he reaches inside and pulls out a single note.

 

“Don’t convert this one.” Himchan watches on in curiosity as he sees Yixing take out a pen from his other pocket, and write the date on the bill, as well as their names.

 

 

_Yixing and Himchan_

 

_October 31 st, 2014._

 

 

“So we remember this moment, and the end of our lives together as we know it gets documented. I know I should have like a really dramatic quote on here, but my mind is blinded from the pain.” Himchan playfully slaps Yixing round the top of the head. If there’s a positive thing about all this, he has about had it up to here with Yixing’s theatrics.

 

“I have an idea,” Kris says. Yixing lets him have the bill, and Kris scribbles something on it before handing it back.

 

“Kris, what the fuck is that.” _Himchan’s eloquence will always, always be his most charming point,_ Yixing thinks.

 

But looking at the scribble, Yixing has to say that he is thinking something much along the very same lines as Himchan.

 

It looks like some sort of creature drawing, but it’s mostly just made out of round, terribly hideous shapes. There’s a tail and eyes and what looks like a horn in there as well, somehow.

 

“It’s a rhino,” Kris says. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about his drawing. “It’s one of my trademark originals. But you can have it too, if you want.” Kris stretches his back as he speaks, and then gives Himchan a charming, easy-going grin. Himchan smiles for a split-second.

 

“It’s, uh, really nice. Thanks man.” He immediately turns back to Yixing.

 

“No problem,” Kris replies. Yixing chooses to stay neutral and not say anything except what he hopes is an encouraging smile towards Kris.

 

People have started to board the bus now. They had arrived at the bus stop earlier than most of the other people, in order for the flowers’ effects on Kris to wear off from the journey from one side of town to the other. And it had given them plenty of time for Yixing to smother Himchan before he was ready to let him go.

 

Now that the whistle was blowing for the last boarders, and they knew it was time, Yixing’s eyes fill up with tears again, as do Himchan’s, much to Kris’s disturbed surprise.

 

“I’ll visit you next year, Xing,” Himchan whispers as he grasps his friend tightly for the last time. “Take care of yourself.”

 

“I will, I will,” Yixing says back, taking in Himchan’s scent. “You take care too. Come back with good news, okay? Study hard. I know you can do it. And don’t forget about me.”

 

Himchan chuckles. “How could I forget about you, Yixing?”

 

“You’re right,” Yixing sniffles. And then he feels Kris gently prising him off in order to get Himchan on the bus in time. He wordlessly leaves, and it makes Yixing think he’s about to have a breakdown, but is comforted again when moments later, Himchan reappears on the other side of an open window, just above Yixing’s eye level.

 

“Goodbye, Xing.”

 

Yixing reaches his arms up to grab hold of the boy’s face, and gives him a gentle kiss on his cheek. “See you in a bit, Channie.”

 

And then the bus is moving, and he’s off, arm frozen in midair as he never stops waving goodbye.

 

 

 

 

They’re tucked away into the darkest, most out-of-the-way booth in the ice cream shop, both because Yixing is still terrified of the hissing man from behind the counter, and because he knows he completely lacks self-control around Kris.

 

Especially when said person is eating what Yixing has ordered him—a gigantic strawberry sundae with sprinkles and edible glitter. It perfectly obscures Kris’s murderous look at Yixing from across the table.

 

“So this is looking pretty good, isn’t it?” Yixing asks cheekily. It’s been two weeks since Himchan has left, and the first time since that he has been able to bring himself to step foot into town.

 

“It looks terrific,” Kris says. And he grabs a spoon and digs in, taking them in huge bites that even Yixing wouldn’t attempt with the very tips of his fangs. Kris pulls a face when he gets brain freeze, but swallows it down all the same after taking another full bite.

 

“How was that, babe?” There’s a bit of glitter on the corner of Kris’s mouth, and his wings have started fluttering again, a reaction Yixing now knows is involuntary.

 

“Manly. Very, very manly.” And then Yixing does something of a battle cry before he leans forward to knock the spoon out of Kris’s hand, ducks under the table in the very next second and pulls Kris down on top of him, shielded from view from the rest of the busy shop, in their quiet, dark corner. He licks the glitter off of Kris’s mouth. He can’t see anyone’s feet from where he’s crouched, because Kris’s wings are opened fully and are blocking his view.

 

He doesn’t want to see anything else. He traces a finger over Kris’s right brow. This is all he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it. This was my first exo fic! It's still my most favourite thing I've ever written, even looking back after three years.


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